When Will it End?

Gunshots in the synagogue.

Screams resound, bones shatter, blood pools, worshipers lay dead.

Senseless in this holy place.

Sitting Shiva

While we argue gun control in tweets and savor our lattes.

Bombs at the marathon.

Runners, bystanders maimed by ragged bits of steel

Lodged in bleeding legs and arms.

More security, more police, more cameras fill the world

While we vow to conquer terrorism and Isis and nosh on lunch.

Gunshots in the school.

Dreams of second graders blanketed in blood and brains

On the floor.

Mourning parents seeking solace

While we read the headlines and down morning coffee—and cry.

Gunshots in the theater.

Bullets rip through skin

While boyfriends shield their dates.

Dazed friends make memorials of flowers and poems

While we consider mental health reform and quaff our beer.

Pipe bombs sent by mail.

Terror fills their family’s lives.

Who will get one next?

Opening each package, they watch their mail—with fear

While we post on Facebook and snack on popcorn.

Gunshots in the mosque. Sirens blare. First responders sprint.

Trails of blood from people in prayer in this religious place.

Trapped in the massacre—no escape.

It is a religion of peace. Survivors forgive.

We shake our heads and tend our backyard barbeques.

Gunshots in the concert.

Which way to run from bullets raining from above

Savaging young lives

As police search for killer in nearby high and shiny steel towers

While we watch on TV and promise to come together as we munch pizza.

Gunshots in the high school.

Some run, some hide, teachers try to save.

But bullets find them—blood seeps.

Lives forever marked-- PTSD, depression, death

While we plan services in five years, ten years, fifteen years—read their names and drink tea.

Planes hit Towers

That disintegrate like toppled blocks.

First responders rush to rescue. Ambulances blare. Smoke billows.

But there is only recovery

While we pray this will never happen again and sip our wine.

“Run, hide, fight.” Active shooter drills.

Kindergarteners conceal themselves in cubbies.

High schooler fights back and dies. ONLY one student killed—this time.

We celebrate this hero while somewhere a student is troubled, sits alone at lunch, needs help.

When will we see him? When will we see her? When?

Linda LundgrenComment